Seven, eight, nine
by Yvi-sama
Summary: She had to remind herself of the meaning of death and every aspect of it, or risk getting used to it and end up indifferent, viewing it as a mere inconvenience since her powers could so easily restore her partner to full health within seconds.


Seven, eight, nine

Did death count as a sacrifice if it was inconsequential?

It was the one question they could never agree on.

Seven.

She hated the fact that she could not hate the one responsible for the limp body in her arms, because they were victims themselves; hated the elusive phantom of a coward who feasted on the pain of others, twisting them to fight his battles.

She hated the fact that she had to remind herself to gather her partner up from the riverbank and - more than anything - she hated herself for her own callous calm regarding the too unmoving form in her arms.

She retreated to a rooftop not too far from the battleground, finding a sheltered section to hide; she couldn't afford to stay away from the akuma for too long... especially now that she was on her own.

Six times.

Chat Noir had died six times since they met. Three times in the last ten months.

"Ten months, one week and four days", she reminded herself. Only 49 days since the last time.

She had to remind herself of the meaning of death and every aspect of it, or risk getting used to it and end up indifferent, viewing it as a mere inconvenience since her powers could so easily restore her partner to full health within seconds. If she was ever to allow herself to accept his death as part of the battle, it would mean the end of their partnership; the equality between them she fought so hard for him to understand.

It was another thing they never agreed on.

They had talked about it, discussed it calmly as the almost-adults they were; they had heatedly fought over it several times, and there had even been a whole month of "minimal battle-related-communication-only" which had proven they were evenly matched in stubbornness.

She hated that he had presented sound arguments - emotionally, strategically, and logically valid arguments - to prove she was more important than him. In the end, it boiled down to the circumstance that she could purify and heal, and he could not. It frustrated her that - objectively - he was right; not that she would ever accept it or stop trying to convince him otherwise.

Burying her nose in his wet hair, she breathed in the smell of the polluted Seine. She cupped his pale cheek and wiped her thumb over a minor scratch he had received early on in the battle.

There was no blood this time. If not for the blue tint of his skin and purple lips, his expression looked deceptively peaceful, belying the terror he must have felt trapped under the thick layer of ice created by the akuma. She clutched him to her chest at the mere thought, concentrating on the chill seeping through her suit.

She channeled the feeling of the first time, needed to remember every detail upon reaching his broken body: the ringing in her ears, the dry burn in her eyes, the copper taste in her mouth, the choking tightness of her throat, the unbearable pressure in her stomach, and the weakness of her knees; the disorienting lightheartedness... She had lost him; had lost an irreplaceable part of herself.

Back then it had been final, the end of her partner's - closest friend's - life; the shock and grief rendering her incapable of any rational thought. Her mind had eventually fled into empowering rage.

Never had she been so ashamed of watching the footage of a fight after the fact.

A deafening roar preceded the hell storm of dagger-sharp icicles cutting through Ladybug's thoughts. She moved urgently, yet handling the boy with utmost tenderness, arranging his body in a relaxed position on his back, tail end curled around his ankles and hand clasped on his stomach; the very picture of calm, grace and strength.

She kissed his cheek. Rage and need for vengeance no longer controlled her but it was a damn fine fuel for the battle ahead.

The battle went by in a hazy blur.

She returned to his side on shaky legs, holding onto her Lucky Charm in a white-knuckled grip.

Tikki had told her there was a Lucky Chance for every casualty to escape death's clutches; Chat Noir had been returned to her far more often than that.

(Six times, going on seven.)

Marinette had wanted to ask if there was a limit for him too, when the kwamie hadn't touched that particular aspect of her abilities, but had chickened out at the last second. She feared the finality of a concrete number more than the uncertainty of now knowing; not knowing was easier to repress and allowed her to hope she could keep him by her side indefinitely.

"Cats have nine lives, My Lady." he quoted the old proverb far too often.

""Cats *always* land on their feet" and that isn't happening either" her treacherous mind would provide, fighting the straw fire of hope he tried to nourish in her heart. A heart that clenched and swelled at the thought of his selfless devotion to protect her.

With a gentle smile, she placed his head on her lap, smoothing his hair comfortingly; waiting for her ladybugs to return and focus their attention on him.

She kept waiting, using the time to prepare herself for his awakening.

Unlike the times he got enthralled by past akumas, he always remembered dying. She wasn't sure how detailed his memories were, since he had the frustrating habit to downplay it or adamantly avoid the conversation whenever she tried to address the subject, but she knew. In the moments between resurrection and him gaining enough awareness to notice her presence, his eyes showed it all: pain, panic, terror, disorientation, as his body trembled in shock.

He caught himself faster and faster after each occurrence, hiding the trauma behind a wall of feigned nonchalance. He wanted to protect her, she knew that, but being shut out hurt more than he probably realized.

Chat was always there when she needed him and she yearned to show him that he could lean on her in the same way, for him to understand she would never see him as anything less than the wonderful, brave and kindhearted person he was.

Ladybug replayed the fight in her mind, analyzing each decision and harshly chastised herself for every mistake. She wanted to be angry at Chat too, for once again intercepting an attack directed at her... but she just couldn't bring herself to place any blame on him; because it ultimately had been her fault. If she had payed more attention, if she had moved faster, if she had come up with a better plan...! He would not have to suffer through this again.

It was too soon. It had not even been two months since the last time he... died and she could tell he still suffered from insomnia. Of course he never complained, but it wasn't like he could hide the utter exhaustion from her; and if she suffered regular nightmares because of it, how much worse had it to be for him?

And yet, the silent suffering and unwillingness to confide in her were not even the worst part. The worst part was the surprised and utterly adoring smile he would give her upon finding her by his side when he woke, like he was not used to any semblance of love and care; maybe he wasn't.

Her anger turned to whoever his family was, to treat him that way; he deserved better than that!

Then the anger turned back at herself, for letting him get hurt... no, for letting him get killed. Again. He deserved so uch better than that.

The buzzing of the vanguard of the insect swarm reached them. She greeted the tiny being that landed on her fingertip warmly, watching her join her sisters to crawl first on their mistress, before joining their

kin to cover her companion. Soon after they flew skywards and transformed into a cloud of pink glitter, easily dispatched by the evening breeze.

Absently caressing Chat's now dry and soft hair, Ladybug followed the sparkles with her eyes as it caught the last rays of sunshine.

The moment passed.

Her brows furrowed; an uneasy realization slowly filtering through her light heart.

The boy in her arms still had to regain consciousness.

She tried to remember if he had moved yet, but came up blank.

Odd.

"Chat? Come on, Kitty, this isn't the time for a cat nap." he loved it when she punned, but there was no reaction this time.

She shook his shoulder gently; then less gently; finally hard enough that his head turned limply from side to side.

"No..." she breathed.

Shaking hands reached for his chest, waiting for it to rise.

Waited.

Waited.

Nothing.

"Ok, calm down, Marinette," she whispered, "it's fine, he's fine. You are... just shaking too much to feel the movement. Yes, that's it..."

That had to be it.

She bent over, resting her cheek right in front of his mouth and nose, waiting for him to take a breath.

Waited.

Just how was she supposed to hear anything with her heart hammering madly against her rib cage?!

Waited.

Waited.

Nothing.

Her stomach clenched, making her feel severely ill.

"No, nononono! Wake. Up. Cats have nine lives, not seven!" she reasoned, before hitting him square in the chest,"You told me yourself... how could you lie to me? Chat!"

She righted herself, glaring in the direction her magical creatures had vanished mere moments ago, "Come back here! You're not done yet; it's nine, not seven! Seven. Eight. Nine."

The only response was the far off beeping of her earrings.

She didn't care. Secret identity be damned. She would give it up in a heartbeat if only... if only…

All energy drained from her body as Tikki withdrew her magic, leaving Marinette defeated and shaking on an unremarkable rooftop. She slumped over, cradling her partner's head, stroking his once-more unblemished cheek, and hid them both behind a curtain of black hair.

She ignored her kwamie's little bumps and touches. Acknowledging the comfort meant giving up, to stop pretending... so instead, she continued pleading with the blond in her arms to come back to her.

Just one more time.

"Please, Chaton... I promise to never c-complain about you st-stupid jokes or puns again... we will go the movies," she smiled, imagining his delight at this, green eyes sparkling and a grin wide enough to show his pointed canines, "a-and ice cream... from that pallor you found... remember? You wanted... wanted to go so badly and I... I was so stupid…", another sob and a caress, "I need you, Chat. I... I love you, I never told you because..." she broke off.

All those reasons suddenly didn't matter anymore; the only thing that mattered was that he knew.

But now... he never would.

Tikki turned away from her sobbing chosen. She wanted to help her girl, but the time hadn't come yet. Instead, she floated down to Chat Noir's Hands, putting him in gratitude and apology, before hugging the black ring - now devoid of its trademark paw-print - and addressed it softly.

"Plagg," her voice was ancient and filled with compassion, "There is nothing you can do for him anymore. Sweets, let him go..."

For a long time, nothing happened.

Then green light and black molds slowly - reluctantly - pealed the suit from the dead hero, revealing soft cloth and fair skin.

The transformation had not worn off completely when a wall of fury, resentment and grieve hit her full force; her equal and opposite completely unbalanced.

Creation understood.

It had happened again, just as it had happened before and would happen in the future in an unending circle of pain and heartache. She had suffered enough losses of her own, but not nearly as often as he had.

As much as its most recent wielder had seen himself as a knight, the Black Cat had always been the shield, the armor of the Ladybug: not less important in any way than the one it protected, but more at risk and more often in need of replacement.

Marinette kept her eyes resolutely shut, finding strange comfort in the sound of a cat's purr.


End file.
